078 The Phantom Of Venice (6 page)

All the same, she thought crossly, his manner might have been a little more gracious!

Getting off the
vaporetto,
she found a water-taxi to take her back to the palazzo. I wonder what the back of the palace is like? Nancy mused idly as they cruised along. Maybe this would be a good time to explore.

Her boatman-driver seemed to understand English quite well. When Nancy told him what she had in mind, he nodded. “No problem, Signorina. I show you how to get there.”

Minutes later, he steered his
motoscafo
into a narrow side-canal and, after giving her detailed directions, let her off near one of the little humpbacked bridges. Nancy thanked him with a smile and a generous tip and started off on foot through an arched passageway facing the bridge.

It led her into a paved street, which widened into a broad, tree-shaded
campo,
or square. On one side of the square stood an ancient church; on the other, a grilled gateway.

The gateway opened into the courtyard of the Palazzo Falcone. It was a lovely spot filled with the fragrance of plants and flowering vines—clematis, rambling roses, oleander and honeysuckle. Crumbling statues added a picturesque touch.

Several people were seated on wrought-iron garden furniture in the flagstoned center of the courtyard. The Marchese and his guests were enjoying an aperitif in the open air.

“Welcome back, my dear!” said the Marchese. “Will you not join us?”

Nancy gratefully sat down and accepted a lemonade after a smiling exchange with her father and Katrina van Holst. She was also introduced to two new arrivals at the palazzo, Signor and Signora Gatti.

“Your visit to Murano was interesting, I trust?” her host inquired politely.

“Very much so. I even learned a little about glass-making.” Nancy displayed the rainbow-hued paperweight she had bought for her Aunt Eloise. “I also saw those beautiful mythological animals your plant is now producing.”

“Ah,
si,
our Venetian bestiary! Marvelous creatures, are they not? We have great hopes for them in the export market, which is one reason why Signor Gatti is here, in addition to attending our masked ball.”

Ezio Gatti was a bulky man with a sharp beak of a nose and beady eyes—rather sinister-looking, Nancy thought—but with a warm, jovial manner that totally belied his appearance. A successful exporter, he said he was already getting a flood of orders for the glass animals from American and European store buyers.

“How did you happen to pick the artist who designed them?” Nancy asked the Marchese.

“He was recommended by Pietro Rinaldi, and, as you saw, he proved an excellent choice. By the way, your father mentioned a girl friend you would like to invite here to tea. By all means do so, my dear! I am sure she will brighten the
Ca’ Falcone,
as you and my other two beautiful lady guests are already doing!”

“Thanks ever so much. That’s very kind of you!” Nancy wondered why her reference to the glass animal designer should lead him to speak of Tara. Did he know that she was the daughter of the artist, Rolf Egan? Or was it just a coincidence?

Aloud she asked, “May I call my friend now?”

“Sicuramente!
My butler will show you to the phone.”

“Perhaps I can help.” Isabella Gatti rose from her garden chair with a smile. “Using our Italian phone system is not always easy for American visitors.”

Signora Gatti accompanied Nancy into the palace. A slender woman with jet-black hair that set off her vivid coloring, she had on a chic afternoon dress that Nancy felt sure was a designer original. Her charming manner won her the teenager’s immediate liking.

After looking up the number of the Pensione Dandolo, Mrs. Gatti dialed, and a rapid conversation in Italian followed, presumably with Signora Dandolo. Then she handed the receiver to Nancy.

“Your friend will be on the line in a moment.”

“Mille grazie!”

“Ah, you are learning our beautiful language! Congratulations, my dear!” The signora walked off, beaming her approval.

Tara was delighted at being asked to tea at the palazzo and accepted happily. She was startled to learn that her father had been commissioned to design a set of glass animals for the Vetreria del Falcone. “What a strange coincidence!” she murmured.

“If it
is
a coincidence,” was the response.

“Nancy, what do you mean?! You’re not suggesting that that had anything to do with . . . with what happened to Daddy?”

“No, of course not. But if we could find out how he came to be chosen as the artist, it might shed a little more light on his work and what he was doing recently, which in turn might clue us in to whether anyone really did have a motive for trying to shoot him.”

“Yes . . . I see what you mean.” Tara’s voice was thoughtful and troubled.

“One other thing. Were you by any chance carrying a sea shell in your luggage?”

“A
sea shell?
Why, no. What a funny question! Why do you ask?”

Nancy hesitated. “I’ll explain tomorrow.”

“Okay, see you then. And thanks for inviting me!”

Nancy changed for dinner, which was held in a magnificent dining room with dark beams, brightened
by Renaissance murals. Over the seven-course meal, the Marchese described his plans for the upcoming masquerade ball.

“It must be a famous occasion, if Miss van Holst has come all the way from Amsterdam to photograph it,” said Nancy.

Francesco del Falcone shrugged but smiled proudly. “It is certainly not the only Venetian
ballo in maschera,
but ours has been held by my family every year since the palazzo was built in 1595!”

“I’m sure Katrina’s photos will do it full justice!” Carson Drew’s remark earned him a dazzling smile from the beautiful Dutch woman.

Before retiring, Nancy decided to write a letter home to Hannah Gruen. The devoted housekeeper had cared for her like a mother ever since the untimely death of Mrs. Drew, when Nancy was only three.

Later, as Nancy sealed the letter, she glanced up from the antique rosewood desk just as someone was passing by in the corridor outside the sitting room. Her thoughts must have shown plainly on her face.

“ ’S’matter?” grinned Don Madison. “Surprised to see the hired help walking through the palace?”

“I . . . I guess you could put it that way,” Nancy admitted, blushing with embarrassment.

Madison chuckled drily. “Actually, I live here.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were a personal friend of the Marchese’s.”

“I’m not. Glassmakers have always ranked well up on the social scale in Venice. In olden times they were held virtual prisoners on Murano, but even so, they were allowed all sorts of special privileges. They could even marry into noble families.”

The young American’s smile took on a faintly sardonic tinge as he added, “Of course, I work for Crystalia Glass, which may soon buy out the Falcone works. I suppose that
may
have had a little bit to do with my being invited to stay here as a guest.”

“What about Pietro Rinaldi?” Nancy inquired with sudden interest. “What sort of relationship did
he
have with the Marchese?”

“Well, maybe not quite like a father and son but, at least, say, an uncle and nephew. The two families have always been fairly close, I guess. Pietro often came here to the palace.”

There was a brief silence before Nancy asked, “Did you have to work very late?”

Again Don Madison chuckled. “Late enough to miss dinner, but I grabbed a bite on the way. Why?”

His manner seemed friendly enough at that moment for Nancy to risk a rebuff. “Could you possibly take time tomorrow to show me Pietro’s flat?”

“Sure, why not?” was the cheerful reply.

For some reason Nancy found herself looking forward with keen anticipation to her return trip to Murano. In fact, her mood the next morning was sufficiently buoyant that she decided to push her luck
and ask if she might go along with Don when he left the palace to go to work at the plant.

“Of course. Come on,” he responded. He seemed more reserved than he had been the previous evening, but at least there was no sign of the brusqueness that had put Nancy off at their first meeting.

Maybe he’s just shy, she thought. It was a surprising notion. Nancy found it rather pleasant.

As they chatted on the
vaporetto,
Don’s manner seemed to thaw again. Once or twice, Nancy glanced sharply over her shoulder.

“Anything wrong?” he inquired.

“Not really.” Nancy tried to shrug off his question with a smile. “I . . . I had a feeling someone was staring at me. . . . Probably my imagination.”

“It’d be surprising if some guy
wasn’t
staring at you,” said Don. “You’re very pretty.”

Nancy felt her cheeks turning pink.

Don had to check in at the
vetreria,
but did not keep her waiting long. Once work was in full swing, he told the plant manager, Signor Rubini, where he was going and that he would return in an hour. Then he and Nancy set off on foot.

Along the island’s shore, she could glimpse heaps of broken glass and other debris. Don noticed her glance. “You might not think so now,” he commented, “but Murano was once a fashionable beauty spot. Rich people would come here to stroll in the gardens and chat with poets and artists.”

Pietro’s flat was located in a neighborhood where master glassmakers had long resided. Nancy was surprised that Don had a key.

“Pietro liked company,” he explained. “Sometimes when he worked late, I’d bunk here overnight.”

It was a typical bachelor’s flat, comfortably if not very neatly furnished. Nancy saw no signs of a struggle. “What makes the police think he was kidnaped during the night?” she asked.

“Mostly because the lights were on when we came here looking for him the next day.”

Don led the way to a scarred, wormholed desk and pointed out a photo. It was a framed, colored snapshot showing Pietro Rinaldi on the beach with his attractive American fiancee. Pietro was a strongly built, hairy-chested fellow with a likeable grin. Nancy guessed that the picture had been snapped somewhere on the Jersey shore.

“The Marchese says Pietro chose the artist who designed those glass animals,” Nancy remarked. “Do you know why he picked Rolf Egan?”

“Well, Egan’s a talented artist, of course . . . but they were old friends.”

“Any idea where they met?”

“No, but they talked like old buddies. Could’ve been back in the States, I suppose.”

“Did you know Rolf Egan had a fatal accident?”

Don Madison was startled on hearing the details. “Wow! Almost sounds like a Mafia hit, doesn’t it?”

Nancy nodded, then stooped to pick up a playing card from the floor. It was lying face down by a wastebasket, as if someone had meant to throw it in but missed. It was the ace of diamonds.

“Any idea where this came from?”

Don shook his head. A search of the rooms failed to reveal any other cards.

The two walked back to the boat landing. The quay was crowded. Murano was already being overrun by its daily horde of tourists. Nancy realized that she and Don had scarcely spoken since leaving Pietro’s flat. She stole a look at her companion and found him regarding her with a strange intensity.

The throng stirred into motion as a
vaporetto
approached. Nancy felt a sudden nudge in the small of her back. It was sharp enough to send her stumbling forward. She flung out an arm to grasp the protective railing, but the sudden jerky movement had caused her heel to break off, and she lost her balance.

With a cry of fear, Nancy toppled from the quay!

Strong arms seized her as she teetered precariously on the barrier! In another moment she would have gone over and plunged head-first into the water!

Nancy’s face was white, and her heart was pounding. It took a moment to collect herself. Suddenly she realized that her head was pressed against Don Madison’s chest, and he was embracing her tightly as she clung to him.

“You okay?”

She nodded wordlessly, and there was a brief eye-to-eye communion before they separated. Nancy sensed a certain reluctance on both their parts to end the embrace.

“Looked like someone pushed you,” Don said gruffly.

“Someone did. Then my right heel broke off and I lost my balance completely!”

They glanced around, but people were jostling past them to board the
vaporetto.
There was no chance now to identify the person responsible.

Suddenly Nancy remembered the prickly feeling she had had of someone watching her on the boat ride over to Murano. Was it possible that she’d been shadowed all the way from the palazzo?

If so, that push might have been no accident!

Nancy felt a chill of fear. Did someone want her dead? Or was she merely being warned? Maybe the intended message was that if she didn’t stop her investigations, she might suffer the same fate as Rolf Egan!

“Sure you’re all right?” Don had been watching her face and his expression showed real concern. He slipped an arm supportively around her waist.

Nancy smiled and nodded. “Quite sure. . . . Don’t worry, Don, I’ll be okay, aside from limping on one heel.”

It was the first time she had called him by his first name. Don hesitated a moment and seemed to swallow hard. “How about staying on for lunch?” he blurted.

“I’d love to, but someone is expecting me back at the palace.”

His face, which had lit up when she said “I’d love to,” fell again at her mention of a previous date. But
his smile returned when Nancy explained that a girl friend was coming for tea.

“Okay. See you tonight then, I hope.”

“So do I. And thanks so much for taking me to Pietro’s!”

“My pleasure. Believe me!”

On the
vaporetto,
sailing back to Venice, Nancy was warily conscious of everyone who came near her. She also took care not to stand too near the rail. Her thoughts kept reverting to that moment when she’d almost been pushed off the quay, only to be saved by Don Madison.